In the Shadows
by Narex
Summary: This is the story of a Khajiit's struggle to thrive in Skyrim's cold temperatures and strange attitudes. It will contain explicit M/M pairings as well as violence and gore. Please see the author's note at the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Standard disclaimer that Bethesda owns everything and I do not seek to profit off of this or claim ownership over any of the wonderful world they made.

With that out of the way, I wanted to set up a bit of background for this story. It's set in the same world as my other fanfic, _Beneath the Shield_ and I welcome you to read that if you want. Be warned that since they share the same universe it may spoiler some plot points for you. Also, the writing of _Beneath the Shield_ will be a bit worse off towards the start as it was first time I tried to write anything of serious length.

I also wanted to warn any readers that this fanfic will contain sexually explicit scenes as well as scenes containing explicit violence and gore. Please, read at your own risk. It will also contain M/M pairings so if you find any of that that distasteful I suggest you find another fanfiction that's more to your taste.

To all others, I hope you enjoy this new story!

Miir'Resh opened his eyes slowly as he heard the creak of the dungeon door being unlocked. The burning brazier in the middle of the room cast a ruddy glow over the dank room and provided the only heat that the Khajiit could feel.

He shivered in his rough tunic as he lay on a small, thin pile of hay and waited for the jailor to enter the room. A soft, despairing moan from across the room told him that the Nord mage they'd been torturing for secrets about some sort of rebellion was still alive and also feared the return of the jailor.

With a loud creak the door swung open and two Imperials sauntered in. One of them, the torturer, immediately looked at the mage with a professional eye, while the jailor walked up to Miir's cell. His grin was lecherous as he regarded the prone Khajiit.

Miir glared back hatefully and regretted ever agreeing to travel with those other Khajiit. Travelling in a group was always the safest way to move when bandits were a very real threat, and Miir had planned to use that group to get into Skyrim before lightening them of a few of their wares and slipping away. How was he supposed to have known they were actually moonsugar smugglers that would get caught by the Imperials who had tightened their security?

Now he lay in this dank cell. The others had refused to surrender and had died pointlessly. Miir had been smarter than that and let himself be taken into custody. Had be known that he would have lingered in this cell for a crime he had no idea he was committing where he would occasionally be pawed at by the jailor he might have tried to run while he had the chance.

"Have your fun later," called the torturer in an annoyed voice, "We need to finish determining if this one knows anything about the Stormcloak movements."

Giving Miir one last very pointed look the Jailor grunted his assent and walked over to the mage's cell. His keys jingled as he pulled them out and unlocked the door. The mage whimpered as the torturer entered his cell and began to verbally interrogate him. They both knew if he didn't answer the questions his real pain would begin.

Predictably, the man held out and Miir closed his eyes as the screams started. He wished he could close his ears against the sound of the mage's cries and the shouts of anger that the other imprisoned Stormcloaks let out.

The torturer's low voice formed a counterpoint to the whimpers and shrieks of the Nord who only pleaded his own ignorance as the Imperial's blades cut into him.

Miir opened his eyes as he heard his cell lock clicking open. The jailor grinned at him through the bars and said, "You know they're executing some older prisoners just over our heads. They'll want to execute you soon, too. I can push that back – tell them you know something – if you're will-"

The rest of his proposition was cut off as the ground shook violently. Cracks shot through the ceiling and the ground shook as the jailor stumbled backwards. Swearing violently, the torturer rose to his feet and angrily exclaimed, "He's dead. Damn that tremor!" The room shook again and the torturer stumbled back as it felt like a powerful explosion rocked the tower above them.

Miir seized on his chance and rushed forward through his unlocked door and slammed his shoulder into the jailor. Despite his weakened state, the Khajiit's desperation fueled him and the jailor fell backwards with a grunt as Miir snatched the keys from his hand.

Without hesitation he used his superior agility to keep his footing on the shaking floor as he rushed to the cells of the two Stormcloaks. He fumbled with the locks for a moment before the first door clicked open. The prisoner within shouted angrily and rushed out with his own sudden fury. He struggled with the fallen jailor as he tried to disarm the man.

Unwilling to waste time trying to help the Nord, Miir opened the other cell quickly and watched as that wrathful prisoner also charged into the fray. The Khajiit knew he was weak right now. He had been abused and starved for longer than these two men, so he quickly looked around for a weapon he could use while the two Nords fought the two Imperials.

He snatched up a dagger as another explosion rocked the dungeon and a loud roar was audible through the sound of cracking stone. Uncertain of where to go, Miir looked around for an escape route as the thought of being entombed beneath all of the stone above his head gnawed at him.

The Nords seemed to have gained the upper hand on their captors and the jailor lay dead at their feet, his chest caved in by the second prisoner's bloody mace. A new voice suddenly called out from the stairwell and Imperial rushed down the stairs. He immediately engaged one of the Nords while a haggard looking Altmer in rough clothes followed after. Miir froze as he saw the elf's hands flare with fiery energies. His target didn't, though, and continued to press his attacks on the torturer.

The Nord's triumphant cry as he plunged his blade into the chest of the torturer was cut short as he was engulfed in flames. He struggled to turn and retaliate, but he collapsed under the fiery stream of magicka. Using the roar of the flames and the erratic light it shed as cover, Miir crouched down and darted into the darkest corner of the room he could find. He relied on his charcoal-grey fur to hide him in the gloom. The brazier had been knocked over, and in the new darkness he waited fearfully.

He huddled quietly there and clutched his dagger, which he had hidden behind his arm so the blade wouldn't reflect the light of the knocked over brazier, as he watched the last Nord fall. The Imperial looked over the four bodies quickly and called out, "We have to go. Now! We don't know what that dragon is doing up there."

Dragon? The prospect of a dragon seemed impossible to the Khajiit, but his attention was pulled back to the conversation at hand when he heard the Imperial add, "We should leave this way. There's an underground passage we can take that will get us outside. We need to warn the others."

He waited for them to race down a passage before slowly following after the pair. He maintained his stealthy tactics as he trailed after them. If they were going to make it out alive, so was he. He nearly hissed as he felt a hand weakly grasp his ankle.

Looking down he saw the bloody face of the jailor looking up at him imploringly. "Help me. Please. Potion," he gasped out as he looked to the small red bottle that sat on the counter in the dungeon. Miir walked over, picked up the corked bottle and carried it back to the jailor who looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

The Khajiit knelt down and let his blue eyes lock with the Imperial's brown ones. He slowly and deliberately tied the potion to the crude belt he wore and smiled a mouthful of fangs at the dying man. "Please," wheezed the Imperial as he understood the implications of the Khajiit's actions.

Miir shook his head and knew he couldn't leave a witness behind. This man, who had tortured and taunted him for weeks, could point his fellow Imperials in the right direction if he was given the chance. The sound of elf's feet and the Imperial's boots was fading quickly in the distance. He quickly and efficiently sank his claws into the Imperial's neck before he tore the man's throat out in a shower of gore that he carefully aimed away from himself.

As he headed after his unwitting guides, he saw several lockpicks sitting just to the side on a small table and he nearly gasped in relief as he scooped up the treasures.

Hurrying to catch up to the others, the Khajiit raced down the halls in pursuit of the Altmer and his ally. Miir was on edge as he swiftly trailed after them. He constantly was on the lookout for any others who might attack him while still trying to stealthily follow the other two in front of him. More explosions rocked the fort above him, and dust showered down on him. He grinned widely as he beheld the doorway that was set into the rough stone of a natural wall.

Relief swept through the Khajiit in a powerful surge as he entered the cool, moist confines of a natural cave system that lay beneath the fort where he had been taken. The sound of running water helped to hide his faint footfalls but it also reminded him of his painful thirst. He had barely been given enough water to stay alive. A particularly violent explosion collapsed the entrance of the cave system behind them, and the Imperial expressed his dismay. Privately, Miir was relieved by the falling rocks for it meant there were no others who would follow him.

He waited for his two unwitting guides to move farther down the natural tunnel before he darted towards the small river that ran through the cave. He quickly cupped his hands and brought a few handfuls of cold, metallic water to his mouth. Water had never tasted better to him.

Rising quickly he followed after the faint sound of footsteps that drifted off into the murky cave before him. Miir's steps were soft and nearly soundless, and what sound he did make was swallowed by the water.

Miir didn't know how the Altmer and the Imperial would react to his presence, so he sat back and watched as they fought a killed an old bear that blocked his exit. He nearly laughed with relief when he saw them engage the old creature because its sense of smell gave it the ability to detect him despite being unable to hear or see him.

The urge to rush forward into the bright sunlight tugged at the Khajiit's senses and he looked for a way he could move forward without being seen. Seeing nothing, he gritted his teeth and became determined to wait while the elf and the Imperial fumbled their way out of the cave. He sidled up to the exit and waited for them to travel a ways down the trail before he stepped out into the light.

After the dimness of the cave the light of the outdoors was blinding to Miir's sensitive eyes and he held up a hand to shield himself from its radiance.

The scent of wildflowers blew past him and though it was faint it seemed nearly overwhelming after his time in the fort's dungeons. With great caution Miir stepped out into the light and took a deep breath. He watched the Imperial and the Altmer clasp arms before separating. Faintly, the wind carried the Imperial's parting words to the Khajiit's ears but fragmented them. He could make out "Riverwood," "north," and "dragon" but not much else.

He followed the two men as they wended their way north. Soon enough small trails of smoke peeked up over the large trees and the cat man figured that they were approaching Riverwood. Letting the two men vanish into the town, the Khajiit away towards the river and a small, private spot where the bushes obscured him from view.

The sun was warm on his fur and a cool breeze blew over him. The two competing sensations made him smile as he stripped off the filthy clothes that he had worn for far too long. He scrubbed the worst of the dirt out of the clothes and carefully checked them over for rips and tears. Miir knew he could be quite charming when he wanted to be but no one would listen to a silver tongue if it was under a beggar's rags. He wasn't _that_ good.

He lay the clothes out on a rock to dry in the warm sunlight as he began to wash himself. Fear twisted his gut as he looked towards the place where Riverwood lay and a little voice in the back of his head told him he was completely out of his depth here in Skyrim. His original plan had been to learn from the travelling traders before helping himself to some of their gold and leaving.

He mentally scrambled as he sought to run through the list of stories he had heard of Nords back home in the Imperial City. Surely not every Nord was a burly, mead swilling warrior but those were the only stories he had heard.

Miir scrubbed vigorously at his fur to make sure that he got rid of as much blood and dirt as possible before he stepped out of the water and sat down next to his clothes. The warm sunlight beat down on him and he smiled as he felt his tense muscles relax. He'd find a way to survive in this strange land. Going back wasn't an option by any stretch of his vivid imagination. Throwing on his mostly-dry clothes he decided to stop wasting time and headed boldly down the road towards the village.

A rustic palisade greeted him as he entered the sheltering embrace of the mountains that curled around Riverwood. He cautiously looked for guards but found none as he entered the small town.

He immediately spotted the elf talking to a burly Nord who sat by a forge and the Khajiit had to quash his instant urge to skulk away or avoid the elf. The Altmer hadn't seen him and didn't know who he was. He had no reason to suspect another survivor of the dragon attack. Miir firmly began to walk past them when he noticed that the blacksmith was slowly and carefully showing the elf something about the forge.

Miir took a moment to bite his lip as he weighed his options. He had no coin and no real clothes. He could try to find odd jobs to do around the town, but who would hire a Khajiit? The alternative wasn't ideal but it seemed to be his only option if he wanted to be able to survive this cold land. Very quietly and very calmly he strode up to the lock on the blacksmith's door. He looked around and saw no one else watching him. In a flash he had squatted down and was fiddling with the lock. His gaze continued to flick around until he heard the soft click that told him he was in.

The door swung open and he quietly stepped inside and shut it behind him. He looked around and saw no one else in the house. A soft, relieved sigh escaped him and he quickly cased the place. He had to move quickly and get out before the blacksmith found a thief skulking around his house. Miir's face twisted into a grimace as he imagined the Altmer spraying him with fire.

The armoire in the corner of the house held nothing but clothes that wouldn't fit him and cupboards held simple foodstuffs that made his stomach rumble as his hunger came back to him in a flash. He couldn't afford to waste time eating, though, and he regretfully turned away from them to continue rooting through the house.

Throwing open a chest Miir found a pile of clothes that he carefully shifted aside. Smirking, the Khajiit found the small bag of gold and the steel dagger that were hidden underneath the clothes. He took them and neatly replaced the clothes – no sense in announcing his burglary.

With great care he slowly opened the door out as he felt the reassuring-but-incriminating weight of the coin purse at his waist. Peeking out the door he saw no one watching it so he quickly slipped out and closed it behind him. There was no way to relock the door so he could only hope the blacksmith would think he forgot to lock it on his way out.

Miir straightened his posture and walked away like he belonged in the town. Only bad thieves constantly looked shifty and furtive. His rumbling stomach demanded immediate attention and he headed towards the inn in the small town.

He quickly made sure his fur still looked clean and respectable. With a Khajiit's reputation he knew that first impressions were incredibly important. Once branded as a thief he would never be able to do anything in the town. Miir knew that he was considered handsome among his own people and he also knew that his exotic nature combined with his angular features to make him appear quite striking to the other humans he had encountered back hom in the Imperial City. He would need that edge and every other advantage to survive.

As he entered the inn he immediately looked over the people who were sitting or standing around the common room. A bard sang some song that was filled with violence and a tired old drunk sat in the shadows at one of the side tables.

He made sure he looked exhausted as he walked over to stern faced woman behind the bar who looked at him with suspicion. "Please," he began in a voice filled with relief, "Could I have some of whatever is making this place smell delicious?" He placed several of the coins on the bar in front of him. Some of the distrust faded from her eyes and the barkeep quickly fetched him his food after sweeping his coins off the bar.

A steaming platter quickly made its way in front of him and the starved Khajiit quickly dug into the meal with relish. "So what's a Khajiit like you doing here?" asked the woman with thinly veiled suspicion.

"I was a cook in the kitchens in Helgen," lied Miir. He didn't want to be the one to break the fort's destruction to the people of the town in case they hadn't heard because he didn't quite know what had happened. He didn't want to use the word "dragon" and seem like a madman.

He was relieved when the woman's face crumpled in a sympathetic expression and she said, "You're another survivor from the dragon attack on Helgen? You should thank the Divines you were lucky enough to survive."

Miir nodded vigorously as he continued to eat the shepherd's pie he had bought. He grunted out between bites, "The attack was so sudden. I was lucky to escape. The stone looked like it was on fire." That last embellishment he added for effect but from the explosions he had felt he could tell the fire had been intense.

More sympathy showed up on the barkeep's features as she looked at him. "We've only seen a few soldiers and that elf come through town and they all spoke of a dark dragon that burned or crushed anyone it encountered. How did you escape?"

The Khajiit took another big bite of his pie to give his imagination time to concoct something that would sound plausible.

"I was in the kitchens just cutting up potatoes for the midday meal when a loud roar suddenly sounded. I was in the heart of the fort so I thought nothing of it until the walls began to shake! We – all of the kitchen workers – fled outside when we saw cracks appearing in the mortar. I was at the back of the rush and I was lucky."

He could tell the woman was wrapped up in his story. She leaned forward intently on the bar and listened carefully as he continued. "A savage burst of flames incinerated those who were the first ones out of the doors," he said with a realistic shudder, "They were burned to a crisp. The rest of us hesitated but we saw the dragon circling around to blast the Imperials who were using bows to take some shots at it. I... I just ran."

The barkeep nodded sadly and comfortingly said, "I doubt there was anything you could've done to stop the beast. You made the smart choice. What happened to your friends, though?"

Miir sadly shook his head and said, "Picked off one by one. We scattered when we saw it approaching again. I was simply a faster runner than the others and made it under the trees. The others were... not so fortunate. I only made it out with these rough work clothes, my coins, and a pair of daggers I snatched up at the last moment."

Privately, the Khajiit hoped that every last servant had died in the fire. There was nothing worse than an actual kitchen cook coming in to denounce him as a liar.

The barkeep was called away by another patron and left Miir to eat in peace, which the Khajiit was grateful for. He didn't want to have to answer any questions about what a lowly cook was doing with two weapons like that. They were clearly daggers and not kitchen knives.

Exhaustion from his imprisonment swept over him as he filled his belly and he quickly rented a room for the night. There was nothing else he wanted to do right now besides rest in a proper bed.

In his room, Miir released a satisfied groan as he felt the day's tensions melt away. It still seemed like some sort of strange dream that he had actually escaped that dark hell and his execution. The small fire that burned in his room was little more than warm embers and he quickly stirred it to life to feel the warmth seep into his bones. He was used to the heat and lush lands of Cyrodiil, which contrasted strongly with the cold and ice of Skyrim.

He closed his eyes and concentrated hard as he sought to cast a cantrip he had learned a long time ago. He smiled as a small, golden glimmer surrounded his hands and he pressed them against the places where the chains had chafed his wrists. In moments the little light guttered and failed but the spell had restored the skin that had been rubbed raw.

With a happy smile he collapsed back onto the soft, straw stuffed mattress and collapsed into a deep sleep as exhaustion claimed him.

Miir woke up the next morning with a wide grin as he rolled limberly out of bed and stretched luxuriously. He hadn't felt this good in a long time and he felt like the new day offered a thousand possibilities. A quick glance at his ragged clothes told him the first thing he would need would be new gear. His fingers ached to feel the smooth shaft of a bow in his hands as he drew an arrow back and sighted down its length.

He flopped back on the simple bed with a contented grunt as he tried to think of how he could get his hands on the things he needed. The simplest way would be to work hard at the simple jobs around the villagers and buy what he needed from the shopkeepers. Miir chuckled to himself as he imagined himself chopping logs of wood for a few coins a day. No, he was much too clever to get sucked into that idiot trap. The Khajiit knew that he would employ the skills he had honed since he was a child to procure what he needed.

Rising from his rented bed, Miir took a moment to ensure his pitiable servant routine was well in place before he left his room. He returned to the barkeep and smiled at her with his most innocent grin and made sure that he didn't show too many teeth. Men and elves found a mouth full of fangs to be entirely unsettling and it spoiled any effort Miir made to appear harmless.

"Please, good lady, a bowl of porridge if you wouldn't mind," he said with just enough deference to help remind her of his supposed position as a cook. With long practiced motions he took a while to fish the coins out of his thin purse while looking like he was trying to hide how scant his supply of gold really was.

A look of sympathy crossed the blonde barkeep's face as she looked at the poor Khajiit. "There's a bit of work around town to do if you're looking for a way to earn some extra coin," she added helpfully. She still accepted his payment without hesitation, noted the Khajiit ruefully.

"Oh, thank you for the suggestion," politely replied the grey-furred Khajiit as he spooned some of the tasteless gruel into his mouth, "But I want to return to cooking. I was thinking of heading to Whiterun to see if I could offer my services at one of the kitchens in their inns. I doubt I'd find much work here as I can tell you already have a fine cook."

The woman laughed lightly at his words but nodded. She remained silent for a moment before asking, "The few Khajiit I've met sounded... different than you. Why is that?"

Her question was asked with perfect innocence and bland curiosity but Miir sensed there was something more there. Despite nothing in her mannerisms giving him a reason to suspect her, Miir's gut told him that something was off. Regardless of his feelings he cheerfully answered, "I lived and worked all my life in the Imperial City and you could say I picked up many Imperial's mannerisms." He didn't add that he had worked as a thief and occasional assassin for those with money and illicit desires. The man who had trained him as a thief had cultured the slight Khajiit accent out of his voice with the warning that it raised far more suspicions in others than if he sounded like the people he was trying to rob. While he had never spoken like many of Elswyr's native Khajiit, his parents had given him just a trace of their vernacular.

The barkeep twisted her face into a sympathetic grimace as she exclaimed, "The Imperial City! I've heard of how badly off that place was after the war. I can see why you took a job farther to the north as anywhere must be better than the City."

Miir nodded sadly but didn't really feel too badly about it. He had been born in the city after it had been sacked, so he had never known it when it was a cultural and economic center. To him it had always been filled with dirty and desperate people. Those same people that the barkeep had pitied were the first ones to give a scrawny, desperate Khajiit youth a few coins to stick a knife in a rival's back. They were also the ones he had robbed blind after he got better at skulking through the shadows.

He also didn't explain that he left because several gangs were out for his blood and the streets were becoming too dangerous even for him. Miir had fled north because it got him away from his problems in the Imperial City and he had no plans for going to Elswyr where there was nothing but sand and steppes.

"I'll be leaving for one of the other larger cities soon – no offence to the beauty of Riverwood," he said with a small smile. Telling her now would hopefully make it less suspicious when he disappeared after acquiring the supplies he needed.

She laughed again and said, "None taken! Town life isn't for everyone, Khajiit." The demands of another patron once again pulled her away. Miir used the chance to wolf down the rest of the glop he had in front of him and very visibly leave the inn.

He walked north towards Whiterun and past numerous villagers as he headed out of the village. Once he was well and truly out of the village he slipped into the greenery around him. Miir preferred cities to wilds, but he was well versed in stepping quietly through both. He circled around the village from the cover of the woods that remained despite the presence of Riverwood's sawmill. He carefully watched the people going about their business as they went through the town. He repeatedly caught glimpses of the Altmer from Helgen still walking around the village.

The elf didn't seem to be much better off than he was but had managed to find a new set of clothes, which made the rough material that covered the Khajiit itch all the more.

Miir gritted his teeth and waited for dusk to fall. He carefully noted the habits and any patterns of the town's residents between berry foraging trips.

With night finally upon Riverwood, Miir slipped back down towards the small town. Almost everyone was asleep or drinking at the inn, which suited him.

His footsteps were swift, light, and soundless as he approached the general store where he knew he would find some armour. He crouched in the shadows by the front door for only a moment before he gently inserted his lockpicks into the keyhole. With a few brisk motions he heard the soft click of the door opening and he carefully eased it open, listening for any creaks. He grinned to himself when he slipped inside – the shopkeeper kept his hinges well oiled to look more professional.

The darkness of the shop didn't bother the Khajiit, who could see well in any light. He prowled forward and listened carefully for any signs of movement. He could faintly hear a deep, sonorous snore coming from the floor above him but there was no movement. Hesitation could only cost him at this point and Miir wasted no more time. He hurried behind the counter where he found a sturdy iron lockbox sitting. This one took him a little more time to open, but he was relieved when he saw its lid loosen as he lifted it up.

A large bag of gold was nestled in there and Miir's eyes widened with surprise and greed as he left it for the moment. There was too much chance that it might jingle when he was sneaking around, so he would collect it later. He turned quickly to the chests behind them and was relieved to find them unlocked. He opened them slowly, listening for any squeaking hinges.

A soft, relieved sigh slipped past his lips as he beheld the highly adjustable set of leather armour in the third chest he opened. Moving quickly he took the armour and the bag of gold before closing the chests and the lockbox. He slipped towards the door and out into the night.

Once outside he went around to the side of the building and slipped into the leathers he had stolen. He quickly adjusted it until it hugged his form but didn't constrain his mobility. He grinned in the darkness, relieved to finally be getting back some of what the Imperials had taken from him when he had been arrested.

He looked around for any night time witnesses who might spot his movements but found none. This town appeared to wake and sleep with the sun, which was a sharp change from the Imperial City which always had people moving around regardless of what time of day or night it was.

He darted across the way back towards the blacksmith's shop. Regretfully he left the heavy bag of coins outside to avoid it weighing him down and jingling while he worked on his other target.

Miir's movements were slower as he got use to the feel of the boots on his feet. Unlike his bare feet, they were more likely to clunk as he walked but they provided invaluable protection against many of the more subtle floor traps that sometimes caught thieves. Back in the Imperial City he knew a woman who had robbed houses barefoot since she was soundless without boots. Her career – and life – had ended quickly when she stepped on the poisoned razor blades that a merchant had put out to catch someone who used her style.

A soft, barely audible click drew Miir's attention back to the door as he once more opened the blacksmith's simple lock. He slipped inside and looked around. His breath caught in his throat as he saw both of the house's occupants peacefully asleep. The Khajiit knew that if he was caught he would have to face the wrath of the angry blacksmith. A wave of doubt washed over him as he eyed the big Nord's thick arms. Even if he managed to overcome the mountain of a man, he knew that the noise would wake the neighbours and he'd have to escape the entire town.

The sight of all the weapons hung on the wall steeled his resolve and the thief very carefully moved forward. Unlike the two floor general store, this single floor dwelling offered no distance between the Khajiit and his victims. He slipped towards where the blacksmith kept his inventory and grinned as he saw all the weapons arrayed before him. He immediately picked up a steel bow and slung it over his back and grabbed another steel dagger. Very carefully, Miir lifted a quiver of arrows as well. It clattered ever so softly as the arrows resettled in their quiver and Miir froze in fear.

A soft grunt from the blacksmith made Miir whip his gaze over to the man as he rolled over in his bed. The Khajiit estimated that if the Nord rose he could rush over and have his dagger in the man's throat before the sleep-addled smith could put up much of a defence. His wife would die shortly thereafter. If the fight was loud then he would sprint out of the house and into the woods. If it went quietly he would slip out.

The fight became unnecessary as the man settled back into a deep, rhythmic breathing pattern. With the utmost care, Miir slipped back out into the star-studded night with a wide grin splitting his face.

Armed and armoured, the Khajiit melted back into the forest before moving far away from the small town. Once he was safely away he straightened out and headed north towards Whiterun, determined to find a way to get rich in this frigid land.

AN: I'm going to keep making mental comparisons to my other fanfiction protagonists, aren't I?


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This fic is about to earn its M rating but don't worry – there is more actual plot ahead. Be warned the following chapter has graphic sex and violence (but not together). I forgot to mention in the first chapter, please feel free to leave reviews. Even if you don't like something tell me so I can improve. Even if you just think "that scene really just isn't necessary, you know!" tell me. I don't get mad at negative reviews.

Miir's ear flattened against his head and he bared his teeth as grunts of raw pleasure squeezed out of him. He continued to slide up and down on the thick Nord cock as it sent jolting waves of pleasure through him with each movement.

His lover was flat on his back and seemed to be mesmerized by the way the Khajiit pleasured himself on the human's body. He watched, awash in his own pleasure, as Miir continued to slide up and down his slicked shaft.

The cat man released a growl from deep in his chest as he felt another orgasm rising in his gut. He came, but it was mostly empty twitching from his dick as the Nord's abs were already splattered with the results of the first two bursts.

One of the Khajiit's hands desperately worked his own cock as he sought to increase his own pleasure and the other pawed at the Nord's sculpted chest as Miir took his pleasure on the muscular man. He could feel the Nord's cock stiffening as his partner approached his own climax, and the human took that moment to make the most of their final moments together.

The big Nord's hands went under the Khajiit's spread ass and lifted him slightly. Miir tensed his legs to help the Nord and he rose up the shaft until just the head was still in him. His tail swished in pleasure.

He groaned as the slap of flesh rang through the small room and the Nord began thrusting upwards in deep, powerful strokes that accompanied grunts from deep in his chest. A familiar rush of liquid heat shot into Miir as he felt the Nord cumming in him.

The Khajiit slid up and down on the man's cock a few more times before he could feel it softening. Sated, Miir rolled off of his partner and onto the bed with a contented sigh. The human blew out a sigh as he looked admiringly over the Khajiit, who regarded the other man with an equally lustful gaze. The sheen of sweat on the man's perfect torso was marred – or improved, depending on your point of view – by the cum splattered on him. "We should go before that damn woman charges us for another hour," said the Nord with a sigh.

Miir grunted in agreement and rose, quickly pulling his newly bought clothes back on and leaving the room. He paid for his half of the room's fee before slipping out of the dank inn in Whiterun. With quick, sure steps he returned to The Bannered Mare, where he nodded to the barkeeper – what was her name again? – before heading into his rented room.

It had only taken him a day to get from Riverwood to Whiterun and the first thing Miir had done was give the majority of his gold to the woman and reserve a room for himself for a good long while. With that covered he had wheedled information about the town out of her. While she initially appeared suspicious of him, like most people were of lone, wandering Khajiit, she quickly warmed up to Miir's seeming innocence.

He told her the same pitiable story about being a survivor of Helgen which she quickly bought. Miir was smart enough to first ask about the places he should visit and he listened intently as the innkeeper spoke with warm pride about the town she lived in. She described the majestic Gildergreen tree to him, told him of the history of the castle, and chattered on about which of the local farms produced the best meat.

He had gradually steered the conversation to the less savory parts of town and listened even more carefully as the woman told him where he shouldn't go. It was from this information he had found out about the other inn. Having told the innkeeper that he was going to look around the town he set out to find this murky, other place that he had been advised to avoid.

Miir recognized the set up of the inn right away as it was the same in the Imperial City where he had grown up. Set aside from the rest of the buildings in a place that wasn't surrounded by the usual street lights sat the slightly worn looking inn. It didn't look like it was in bad condition, just that it was trying to be inconspicuous in the darkness.

He had quickly learned that the Nords had a strange view on love. On one hand, they encouraged passionate and honest love to grow as the savage land didn't leave a lot of time for courtship.

On the other hand there was a sort of honour system that came into play. As his first lover in Whiterun had explained, it was a sort of dishonour to be taken by another man mostly because it was seen as an act of submission. It was apparently like letting go of a part of the vital, warrior spirit that every Nord was supposed to possess.

As a Khajiit, Miir thought the whole thing was idiotic. If both people were agreeable and got pleasure out of it, what did any of it matter? He had gone to the inn where men weren't supposed to go and had not played hard to get. The three Nords he had been with had all been good lovers, and Miir left those experiences without any sort of regret. He smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep. One day he would return to that inn and see if the Nords took as good as they gave.

Miir lounged in his rented bed as the dawn burst through the windows in his rented room. He was faced with an unfortunate reality this morning – he would have to find some sort of way to earn more gold and he didn't want to risk stealing everything he needed.

The Khajiit stretched lithely and rose with the grace his people were known for. He quickly dressed himself and went to collect the meal he had paid for in advance. The baked salmon was consumed very slowly because eating slowly gave Miir time to think about his next move and it was the last thing he had prepaid for.

After checking that all of his stolen gear was properly in place, he left to walk the town and see its people. There was always someone in need of something, Miir reasoned to himself. He just hoped that the Nords who lived here weren't too averse to hiring a Khajiit of his somewhat less honourable skillset.

He meandered around the various tiers of the city when he saw a woman dressed in a priestess's robes praying by the Gildergreen tree. Thinking nothing of it, Miir almost walked past her when he heard her sigh to herself, "Still no improvement." Though he knew the comment wasn't meant for him, the thief immediately smelled an opportunity.

"Pardon me, lady priestess, but was there some manner of problem I could help you with?" he said with all the respectability he could muster.

She looked suspiciously at him for a moment before nodding, more to herself than Miir, "You look like you can handle yourself in a fight, Khajiit. As a matter of fact, there _is_ something you can do for me. See this tree here? As I'm sure you know, this is the Gildergreen and we use its sap to heal the sick and injured here in Whiterun. Unfortunately, the tree itself is dying."

Miir scrunched his face into a look of sincere dismay as he asked, "Is there no way to save the Gildergreen?"

The priestess nodded and said, "Sap from its parent tree in the Eldergleam Sanctuary will heal it, but... we would need a special dagger to access that tree."

Miir made sure he didn't look too interested as he heard mention of a dagger. His thoughts immediately went to the two steel daggers strapped to his hips and he longed for something better than those.

"What makes the dagger special?" he asked as casually as possible.

"It's the only blade that can cut through the bark of the Eldergleam tree," said the priestess with a grimace as if the idea seemed offensive to her.

Disappointment flooded Miir's mind as he heard the answer. He had hoped to hear that the thing constantly oozed a lethal poison or could ignite on command. The lightness of his coin purse reminded him that he didn't have an option. He had to accept the contract offered by the woman.

The Khajiit gave his best human-friendly smile and asked, "Where can I find it?"

The priestess seemed to look past Miir for a moment as she seemed to stare far off into the distance. Following her gaze, Miir saw nothing but the buildings and wondered what she was seeing. "There is an unholy place called Orphan Rock. It lies south beyond Helgen and just into the mountains," intoned the priestess with surprising gravity, "In that place you will find a hagraven and her coven. They possess the dagger." The priestess shook her head as she seemed to leave some sort of trance. She offered him a crudely sketched map of the area which would show him where the mountain passages were and he accepted it.

Miir suppressed a grimace as he thought of the journey back but he simply nodded to priestess and promised her he would retrieve the dagger. Without fanfare he went back to the inn and purchased a sleeping roll and the few supplies he'd need to survive in the wild with the little coin he had left. Despite being born and raised in the city, Miir was more adept at woodcraft than most gave him credit for. He had frequently used the forests around the Imperial City as a hiding place if the streets grew too dangerous for him.

Looking up at the sun, which hung heavily towards the horizon, Miir decided to wait one more day. There was no sense leaving now and travelling through the night when it was colder and more dangerous. He returned to the inn and booked his room for one more night. Tonight he would prepare for the return journey south as he passed once more through Riverwood.

The sun was warm and bright as Miir entered the farmlands surrounding Whiterun. He had risen before the sun and ensured he had everything he needed for his trek south and just into the mountains where the coven of witches was supposed to be.

His pack wasn't too heavy as he anticipated using Riverwood as a base of operations to avoid carrying more supplies than was needed. Miir was quite adept at hunting and foraging, and the Khajiit was more than willing to rely on those skills before he sunk more gold into unnecessary supplies.

His trip south was quiet and uneventful, for which the thief was relieved. He knew about the bandits that plagued the area and the threat they posed to a lone traveller. He sincerely hoped that since he looked like a poor huntsman that they would let him pass.

Riverwood didn't appear to have changed at all in the days he had left it. It was still the same small, rustic town that had irked him when he arrived. He made a point of avoiding the inn so he wouldn't have to explain to the innkeeper why he wasn't in Whiterun cooking at one of the little inns there. He breezed quickly through the town as he headed back out along the mountains. White snow gently dusted the earth as he began to ascend away from the warm confines of the Riverwood Valley.

Under the bright afternoon light he looked at the crude map he had in his hands and sighed to himself. The lines looked like they could've been done by a child but Miir squinted at them and tried to sort them out anyway. He looked at the large outcropping of rock that was supposed to be one of his major landmarks and compared it to the scribble on the paper. He sighed again and decided to act like it was the rock he was looking for.

He crunched up the path as he ascended the small hillock at the base of the greater mountains. Peering down at his map he looked at the curve of the mountains and compared them to the curve of his sketch. Another annoyed sigh escaped him.

Hours passed as he followed the map to the best of his ability until darkness began to fall. Miir bit his lip as he looked at the setting sun. He could try to find shelter and wait out the night, or he could try to find his destination which he believed he was close to. A firm cast came over his face as he decided to push onward. The witches likely slept at night and he wanted to catch them at their weakest after they tired themselves out after a long day of dark rituals or whatever they did in their cave.

Relief and disgust swept through the Khajiit as he saw a spriggan's head impaled on a stick. While he had never been fond of "nature's guardians" he found the totem to be grotesque. It did, however, reassure him that he was on the right path.

A few moments and few more grisly warnings later he found the cave entrance. He nodded to himself as he surveyed the entrance from afar. Miir slipped his pack off and left it behind one of the larger boulders. He wouldn't need it where he was going.

He quickly took stock of his supplies before he headed slowly towards the darkness.

Miir quickly pressed himself against one of the walls to avoid being a silhouette against whatever faint light came down from the moons and stars as he slipped farther down the darkened passage. The thief was not a spiritual sort, but even he could sense there was something _wrong_ in the air. It smelled like rot to him and the scent was caused by more than the dismembered spriggan parts and animal bone displays.

His ears pricked as he heard faint voices ahead and he froze as he listened. The faint sound of chanting resonated down the hall and he continued towards it. His stealthy steps carried him past a fork in the path to a large chamber where two torches illuminated a scene that made Miir's breath catch in his throat.

Five Nord women chanted a low refrain as a hagraven rumbled her own incantation while standing over a bound spriggan. The nature spirit seemed to be bound on an altar by strands of rotting rope. The lengths of rope shouldn't have been able to hold her but Miir suspected they were more than mundane. It was the raised dagger in the hagraven's hand that caught Miir's attention, though. The slightly wavy blade looked like it was black but mottled with flecks of green and from its use in the sacrifice Miir figured it had to be his target.

He mentally swore to himself. There was no way he could take on the hagraven and her coven all at the same time, so he sat back and watched as the chant reached a crescendo. A wince of sympathy crossed his features as he watched the blade plunge into the spriggan's chest. The sprite arched her back before sinking back down, clearly dead. Miir watched from the shadows as the blade parted the woody flesh with alarming ease and the pungent scent of tree sap filled the air. In short order the spriggan's head had been removed and some large, green knot had been removed from her chest.

The coven slowly began to head back towards Miir with one of the torches, leaving the hagraven alone at the altar with the other one, and the Khajiit darted back down the hallway in complete silence as he pressed himself into a groove in the natural cave wall.

Disgust flared in his mind as he saw that each of the five women was partway through the process of becoming a hagraven. Most of them had slightly distorted features and a few were even sprouting feathers.

Luckily they took the torch down the other fork in the cave system as they slowly headed away from Miir. The Khajiit was surprised with how bland their conversations were as their voices floated through the air to his sensitive ears. While he expected some sort of evil laughter or discussion about sacrificing innocent victims he actually heard them complaining about how tired they were or the burned roast they had the night before. One of the other witches, evidently the cook, angrily protested their accusations of burning the food.

Their conversation dimmed as they wound down the hallway and Miir edged back towards the fork in the tunnel. He looked at the hagraven, who had the dagger he wanted and was alone as she busily butchered the body of the spriggan. If he could quickly and silently eliminate her then he could retrieve Nettlebane and be out of the cave before the others knew he was even there. If she made any noise, though, he knew it would carry to her underlings and the thief wouldn't survive fighting that many witches.

He looked towards where the others had vanished to. They were likely going to sleep and if he could eliminate them then the hagraven herself would be much closer to a fair fight for Miir. He bit his lip as he tried to decide.

The Khajiit set his jaw as he slipped down the path towards the sleeping quarters of the other witches. Even if he escaped with the dagger they would likely try to pursue him and he couldn't stand the idea of being constantly chased by these madwomen.

His steps were soundless as he strained his hearing to pick up any hint of movement, but he heard only a few whispered words and snores. Four paths broke of the tunnel and led to small chambers which Miir assumed were the five witches' sleep chambers. The absolute darkness from the extinguished torch didn't impede the Khajiit, who quickly forced his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Hissed bickering and whispers came from one of the chambers, which the thief assumed was a shared room since they were arguing over who had more blankets. Fortunately, their room was the farthest from Miir and he decided to wait until they were asleep. The first room immediately to his left was completely silent and he slipped into it.

The witch's eyes were closed and she breathed deeply and evenly, evidently asleep. Miir slipped up towards the helpless woman as he drew his dagger and hesitated for a moment as he clenched his hand around the weapon's hilt. The strike had to be perfect or else she would live and he would be detected. He reversed his grip, held his breath and plunged the weapon down. It slammed through the woman's temple and into her brain. She died instantly and soundlessly, sagging as blood poured from the wound. Miir quickly backed up to avoid being soaked as he wiped his weapon on a nearby spare robe. He was relying on the scent of earth, stone, and rot to cover up the reek of blood which likely wouldn't circulate very fast with the poor ventilation that the living chambers had. The witch's death still put him on a clock, though, as he knew the smell would eventually get to the others.

One down, four to go, thought the Khajiit to himself as he headed for the next chamber. His next target was asleep as well. This woman's face was the only thing visible underneath the mountain of ratty blankets she had heaped on herself. He was about to move forward when he saw that the floor was strewn with a variety of bones. White spars of bone, both intact and broken, were scattered across the floor and Miir knew that one misstep would raise enough noise to wake the others.

Reluctantly, he slipped his bow off of his back and knocked an arrow. He bit his lip, nervous as he sighted down the arrow's length, and tried to imagine the _twang_ of the weapon. Would it wake the others? There was no choice. He had to risk this since he was even more unnerved by the bones scattered on the floor. Silently letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the Khajiit loosed the arrow. A spurt of blood accompanied the witch's head jerking back as the arrow pierced her eye and drove inward. The heaps of cloth she slept underneath muffled any further sound though.

Miir regretfully left the arrow behind as he slinked away from his second target and returned his bow to its place on his back. Three more to go before the hagraven, he thought to himself.

As he slowly approached the third room he saw a faint light emerging from it. He mentally swore to himself as he slowed down and edged closer to the doorway. Grimacing, the Khajiit peered inside carefully and saw the witch hunched over some sort of alchemic table which she kept her focus intently on as she ground herbs with a mortar and pestle. Miir waited a few moments more for her to go to sleep or show signs of getting ready to sleep, but she didn't budge from her place in front of the now-bubbling alembics.

It's never easy, thought the grey-furred Khajiit to himself as he slipped up behind the woman who muttered to herself about portions and temperatures. In a flash, he launched himself up and clamped his hand around her mouth as he brought his dagger around to her throat. With one smooth motion her jerked her head up and slit her throat open. He pulled her body against his as spasms wracked her dying form. Very gently, he let her down as she stilled and the blood pouring from her torn open throat slowed to a trickle.

His deft hands moved rapidly as he moved the alembics off of their fires to prevent them from burning. The last thing he needed was the smell of burning potions to draw the others to the room and the body.

The last room had remained silent and dark throughout the last three takedowns Miir had made, but the Khajiit still moved stealthily towards it. Sure enough, the last two witches had fallen asleep back to back in a large bed.

He mentally reviewed his options. Anything involving his daggers would likely mean a fountain of blood all around, which would likely awaken the witch. His mind snapped back to the witch had killed with his bow. Her blood had poured out in front of her. There was no way this would go down easily, so Miir readied an arrow as he silently prayed to be able to quietly kill these last two witches.

The soft _twang_ of his bow sent an arrow streaking out towards the witch closest to him. It buried itself between her eyes and her head jerked violently back. Miir had already drawn his daggers as he readied himself to rush to the woman's bedmate, but the other witch only sleepily snarled, "Dammit, Giseldra, stop fussing!" The scent of blood would quickly become overwhelming to the last witch, so Miir scurried forward and quietly ended her life with a well-placed stab to the throat.

Relief surged through him as he realized he only had the hagraven left to deal with. That same relief quickly vanished when it struck him that he actually had to kill a hagraven now.

He tried to think of any stories he had heard of the strange women who had used magical rituals to pervert themselves, but he couldn't recall any details. All he knew was that she was a potent spellcaster who wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

Miir quietly made his way back towards the ritual chamber where the hagraven was still butchering the spriggan. The Khajiit's stomach clenched in disgust as he saw the nature spirit's pieces neatly arranged on the altar. Green sap, the spriggan's blood, was smeared all over the pieces and the hagraven softly sang in her raspy voice as she continued to use Nettlebane to cut the spriggan up.

The birdwoman's irregular, bobbing motions made getting a clean shot on her next to impossible but Miir took his time and watched for a pattern. His frustration mounted as he saw that there was no rhythm to her movements. She seemed to impulsively bounce between the spriggan's various pieces as her whims dictated. The Khajiit had no choice and had to act.

His hopes of an easy kill fell apart when the arrow he fired slammed into the hagraven's shoulder and not her heart, like he had hoped. She screamed in agony and turned around, but Miir had already cast his bow aside and was sprinting towards her with his daggers drawn.

"You will die!" screamed the hagraven as she held up a hand that had ignited with magicka. "Sisters, to me!" shrieked the hagraven again as a tight burst of fire shot towards Miir. Waiting for the last moment, Miir threw himself aside as the shot sped past and exploded behind him in a brilliant wash of light and heat.

The hagraven raised her fiery hand again but Miir was already upon her and drove the tip of his right hand dagger into her wrist. His blade slipped between the delicate bones of her forearm just below her wrist and forced her hand up. Her pained screamed was accompanied by Nettlebane lashing out at his face but he stepped inside her reach and blocked her wrist with his left forearm.

Jerking his right blade out of her arm he lashed out with a swipe towards her face that she instinctively raised her hands to block. With both her arms up he jabbed his left dagger into her gut up to the hilt. She wheezed out as shock came over her hideous features. Miir didn't hesitate to pull his left dagger out and whip it across her throat to ensure she didn't threaten him anymore.

The adrenaline drained from his system as he realized there was no one left in the cave to fight. He looked closely at his right hand dagger and frowned sharply at the ruined tip. It looked like it had melted slightly when he had forced it into the hagraven's arm that had been ablaze with magicka. He shrugged to himself and threw it to the side as he picked up Nettlebane and examined the edge on the weapon. It seemed to be razor sharp and perfectly balanced as he gripped it tightly in his hand and took a few practice swings before retrieving the bow he had left behind. The priestess would like her new weapon.

With no one else in the cavern he was free to look for anything of value. He doubted the coven would have much use for gold, but he hoped to find some sort of magical trinket or potion that would be worth something back in Whiterun.

The ritual chamber before him was devoid of anything valuable, and Miir swore angrily. He knew the priestess back in Whiterun had promised him payment but he was hoping to make a little extra on the side.

Unlike the ritual chamber, the bedrooms of the witches were much more profitable. Kicking aside the bones that had littered the floor of his first victim-by-arrow he found a bag of rough gemstones and a robe that softly radiated magical energy amongst the rags that had formed the woman's bed.

Another room proved worthless, but the potion maker had apparently been busy. Miir found half a dozen neatly corked bottles that he carefully tucked away into a bag that he had folded up and attached to his belt. He grinned widely as he carefully placed them in the pack and slung it over his shoulder.

As he rummaged through the shared room of the last two victims his breath caught in his throat with excitement as he beheld a golden, dragon headed staff leaning up against the wall. Though he knew very little about the enchantment process, he _did_ know that it involved etching tiny runes on the staff. Back in the Imperial City he had been taught how to read these runes to identify which weapon was more valuable.

He picked up the staff and could immediately feel the warmth coursing through it. While he suspected its purpose, he carefully examined the runes that were etched along the base of the head. He didn't understand most of them, but he understood the ones that stood for "fire" and "bolt" and he rolled the weapon in his hand as he finished picking through the room.

Satisfied that he had plundered everything of value from the place, Miir left the cave with the staff still clutched in his hand. The night was still thick over the land, but Miir didn't want to sleep in the blood soaked cave. Instead, he retrieved his pack and headed back towards Riverwood. To his eyes the faint light of the stars and the moon was ample light for him, but he kept the magical staff handy for use as a walking stick if he needed it.

The sleepy little town was completely silent as all of its residents were already asleep. Miir entered the unlocked inn and found no one there to greet him. He sighed to himself. Even the innkeeper likely slept now and he didn't know whether to try to find her and rent a room or to just sleep in the common room. He opted for the second option and sat down uncomfortably in a corner of the room near the dying fire. Miir doubted anyone in the small town would steal from him, but he still curled his tail protectively around his loot, which he left behind him, as his exhaustion caught up to him in the warmth of the inn.

Miir woke at the first soft step he heard, and he was already standing by the time the innkeeper came out of her room to start the morning fire. Remembering the lies he had told her, he left the inn and hurried back along the road towards Whiterun with annoyance. He was forced to eat the trail rations he had bought and had yet to eat, which was far from the rich food he was going to enjoy when he arrived back in the hold's largest city.

Despite how he was burdened, the Khajiit made good time along the roads and was quickly back in the city by the time the late afternoon sun was hanging low in the sky.

Miir looked down at the staff that he still clutched and mentally frowned as he realized he would have to talk to that damned annoying Breton, Belethor. The man had the most gratingly annoying voice but Miir knew he was the only one who would want to deal in magical artifacts like the staff in this magic-fearing Nord city.

Entering the man's shop he used his warmest, no-teeth smile and pre-empted the man's greeting with, "I'd like to see how much you'd be willing to pay for this."

Belethor hummed and hawed as he examined the staff and ran his fingers along the runes. Miir was no stranger to haggling and he quickly fell into the rhythm of it with the Breton, who was trying to deeply undervalue the weapon, gems, and robes.

It took Miir only five minutes to get a decent price out of the man who quickly gathered that the Khajiit wouldn't take anything less. The thief made a mental note to rob the awful man later.

Glad to be away from the grating Breton, Miir left the man's shop and entered the one right next to it. The Imperial woman tried her usual routine of pushing unnecessary remedies on him, but Miir was used to the methods of Imperial shopkeepers and politely turned her down. He let her examine the potions and he knew that it wouldn't be hard to get a fair price out of her. She was obliged to lowball her first offer to him slightly, but it wasn't very hard to get the old woman to raise her price to somewhere much more appropriate.

Miir then headed for the temple, very pleased with the two sacks of gold that rode his belt.

He entered the temple as the priestess administered a few drops of a rich green liquid to a sickly looked man who sighed with relief as the potion eased whatever was ailing him. The woman quickly saw Miir and hurriedly ended her session with the other Nord, who left looked relieved.

She beckoned Miir closer and said, "That was some of my last sap from the Gildergreen tree. Please tell me you retrieved the dagger."

Miir nodded and offered her Nettlebane hilt first. She looked at it with trepidation and held her hands up, saying, "I don't want to touch that foul thing. Please, I need you to do one more thing for me."

The Khajiit was pleased he got to keep Nettlebane and that he was being offered a second job. "Please, priestess, tell me what you need," he said in his politest voice to mask the greed that lay under it.

"I need you to go to the Eldergleam Sanctuary and actually return with the sap needed to heal the Gildergreen. Here are the directions," she said bluntly. Miir found her way of speaking honestly very refreshing. Unlike Imperials, who loved to talk circles around you, Nords were upfront and the Khajiit respected that in business partners. It meant they weren't likely to stab you in the back.

"I would be glad to go to go to the Sanctuary for you, Priestess, but I need just a little time to rest. I hope you understand," said Miir. The woman sighed, nodded and bid him to wait with a quick gesture.

"For retrieving Nettlebane as promised," she explained as she handed him another sack of gold.

Miir hadn't been so flush with coin in a long time and he already had plans how to spend it. Thanking her, he left her behind as he headed towards the massive fortress of Dragonsreach. Miir needed to put his money somewhere safe and he had heard back in the Imperial City that the hold's treasuries could be used as banks by the people of the hold who didn't have their own vaults.

Finding a functionary to help him was a rather simple affair as the guards immediately stopped him and suspiciously asked him what his intentions were. Miir supposed he should be pleased to get an escort to the vault by the faceless guards as he very calmly delivered two of his three coin pouches to the Nord who watched over the treasury. He made sure all the paper work was in order as he handed over the sacks of gold and was escorted out. At least his money was likely safe from thieves like himself, he thought ruefully to himself.

Leaving Dragonsreach, the Khajiit knew exactly what he wanted to do with the last of his gold as the sun began to set. He hurried back to the Bannered Mare and rented a room for the night before he left for the other nameless inn where he planned to empty most of his remaining purse.

The Khajiit was only on his first drink and he already had his target picked. He wasn't the bar's only other occupant, but Miir knew exactly how he would get the young Nord. Miir had watched the other man discreetly from the corner of his eye. Dressed in what Miir had come to recognize as peasant finery, the young man carefully counted out his gold coins with each bottle of mead he ordered.

Probably a farmer's son from one of the fields around Whiterun, reasoned the Khajiit as he looked at the blonde Nord's softly tanned skin. His carefulness with money told the thief that the man probably was born poor. Miir watched the Nord surreptitiously glancing at the other patrons in the bar before looking back down at his drink, blushing faintly after watching two other men embrace with passionate kisses.

As the farmer's son emptied his mead Miir knew it was time to make his move. He quickly approached the handsome farmer, his eyes raked over his thick arms, as he sat down next time him. "Another mead for both of us," called Miir in his cultured voice. Very casually he fished the gold out of his pocket and put it on the table without looking at it.

"What's your name?" he asked the pretty blonde with his warmest smile.

"Hjorn," nervously answered the farmer's son. Miir could smell the alcohol on the other man's breath. Looks like the Nord had been trying to drink himself into bravery.

The thief smiled more to himself than the Nord as he sized up his target. The young man was skittish, that much was clear. Miir felt that if he moved too fast the young man would run, blushing deeply, out of the tavern.

"Hjorn," began Miir as he slid one of the mead bottles over to his fell barmate, "With arms like those are you a warrior of some sort?"

"Me? A warrior?" asked Hjorn incredulously before he laughed slightly. "No, I'm just a farmer."

The Khajiit congratulated himself on his deductive skills as he asked, "A farm eh? You must have a lot of experience with animals then – break in a lot of stallions?"

"Oh, no," said the Nord, "Both our horses are – _oh_." His face flamed crimson as he suddenly understood the Khajiit's implication. "No, still no," said the Nord as he down half his bottle in a long, nervous swallow.

Miir slid off his stool and huskily whispered as he closed the gap between the two of them in an instant, "But you're good with animals." It was a statement.

He could hear Hjorn's breath hitch in his throat and Miir saw the strong farmboy tense up. It was now or never, thought the Khajiit to himself as he moved forward to kiss the Nord.

With his cleft cat's lip, Miir always found kissing humans awkward but he knew how they felt about it so he continued with the practice. Hjorn grew intensely still as their lips connected and Miir expected the man to break away and bolt. Relief and excitement mingled in Miir's gut as he felt the Nord relax. Gently, Miir placed his hands on the other man's hips without breaking their kiss and he urged Hjorn off his stool. They stood almost even, with the Nord having a slight height advantage.

Miir's hand slid down to the Nord's ass and thighs as he threw more coins on the bar and headed for an open room.

"Come," he growled sensuously as he led the still-nervous Nord into the room and shut the door behind him.

Miir didn't hesitate when the door closed. He grasped the other man and pulled him close for another deep kiss as his hands deftly started undoing the buttons of his partner's shirt. A few deft twists saw the Nord standing shirtless in the warm room and Miir nearly whistled appreciatively at the man's perfect torso. The poor fool didn't even know how desirable he was.

Gesturing to the farmboy's pants with a jerk of his head, Miir added, "You won't need those. Take them off."

The slightly assertive tone had the man trying to take them off with shaking hands. Miir could see his obvious erection was making it difficult too, but the Khajiit was too preoccupied with disrobing himself to help his friend. Besides, he liked watching him squirm a bit.

Hjorn was still struggling with his pants by the time Miir stood naked before the Nord.

The Khajiit massaged his own erect cock for a moment before he deftly helped Hjorn drop his homespun trousers. Miir kissed him once more as he rumbled, "Hold still."

It had been a common joke amongst the Khajiit of the streets back in the Imperial City that with their mouths full of fangs a Khajiit was not meant to give head, only get it. Miir had learned that while the fangs were often an intimidating presence to men and mer, you sometimes had to adapt if you wanted to get them to return the favour.

His long, slightly rough tongue slid from the base of Hjorn's quite generous cock all the way to the tip, which elicited a gasp of pleasure from the Nord. Miir curled his tongue as best he could while laving the Nord's genitals. He could quickly taste the precum as Hjorn's member jerked and twitched.

This is probably his first, mused Miir as he continued to work the Nord.

He slowly stopped and a gasp-whine came from the big Nord as he looked down as his partner in confusion. Miir rose to his feet and kissed the Nord deeply again, making sure to press his slightly-cum-tasting tongue into the other Nord's mouth. He broke the kiss as he whispered, "Your turn."

Hjorn swallowed nervously as he slowly got to his knees. He brushed his shining, shoulder-length hair away from his face as he slowly took the Khajiit's cock into his mouth and began to suck.

This was definitely his first time giving head, thought the Khajiit as he watched the man suck with gusto but inexperience. He didn't go down very far and he occasionally scraped with his teeth, but the Khajiit loved the rich red the man's face turned as he tried to please his lover.

Miir didn't let it go on long. "Come," he growled again as he gently eased the man's mouth off his cock, "Let's both find pleasure." He looked meaningfully to the bed and back to Hjorn with a smile.

Nodding, Hjorn walked over to the bad and sat down, nervously playing with himself as he watched the lithe catman quickly stalk over to a cupboard and grab a small vial of oil. Sitting down next to Hjorn, Miir softly murmured to him as their lips intermittently connected and Miir oiled himself.

A firm hand in the middle of the Nord's broad chest urged Hjorn onto his back and Miir gently raised his legs as he slipped an oiled coated finger into the Nord's ass. A small grunt of discomfort heralded a hiss of pleasure as the Nord's pleasure centers were stroked by the Khajiit's probing finger.

Miir pressed the head of his dick against the Nord's asshole as he asked, "Are you ready?" Hjorn looked up at him, sweating slightly with nervousness, and nodded. Miir very slowly and very gently pressed into the Nord's tight ass, which the Khajiit guessed was virginal. Hjorn gasped and whimpered slightly as the Khajiit let the man's body settle around him and get used to the much-bigger-than-a-finger dick that was penetrating it.

"I'm going to start to move. Relax and it'll be fun," murmured the Khajiit as he slowly pulled out before sliding back in. He left Hjorn's ankles rest on his shoulders as he pumped the Nord's dick while he slid in and out of him with a gentle, easy rhythm. The Nord quickly relaxed with each stroke over his prostate and his cries became less pained and more pleased.

Miir quickly worked up to the rapid pace he preferred as he slammed in the Nord's perfect ass over and over, giving off feral little grunts as he shoved deeply into the farmboy. His hands roamed over the Nord's glistening-with-sweat torso and thick arms while the Nord quickly began pumping his own cock. Ecstatic cries peeled out of the Nord as he came all over his hand, but the Khajiit wasn't nearly done.

The Khajiit continued to press home with each ecstatic thrust, and Hjorn continued to moan with pleasure as he came again. Miir saw that the Nord didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and they moved quickly from his cock to Miir's ass as he urged the Khajiit deeper to his own body as he unintentionally smeared his own cum over his chest. Miir rather liked the sight of it.

Eventually the Khajiit's load shot into the Nord's ass as Miir came with a loud groan.

A few more thrusts and the catman pulled out of his partner and eased the Nord's legs down. He could see the farmboy was quivering with excitement and exhaustion and he pitied the lad a bit. It was his first time and it was clear Hjorn had no idea what to do next.

Miir fetched one of the two water bowls and washcloths from the dresser across the room and gave it to Hjorn with the words, "Clean yourself up and then go back to whatever inn you're staying at." The Nord looked at the door with a look of surprising hunger and Miir added, "Or back out there to find another. You'll find a lot of willing men."

As much as Miir wanted to follow his own advice, he ruefully cleaned himself off and left the nameless inn. He had to be ready to go to the Eldergleam Sanctuary tomorrow. Before he left he saw Hjorn locking lips with a bearded Redguard much to the delight of the inn's other patrons.

AN: More reviews are appreciated! Did anyone else wonder how your character just _knew_ what an enchanted item did?


End file.
